


Cravings

by brokenEisenglas



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, Pre-War, Soulmate AU, megopweek2020, they meet at the club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22194475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenEisenglas/pseuds/brokenEisenglas
Summary: It runs deep in their biology, deeper than the code each and every one of them carries. It’s more part of them than energon that fuels their lives and their planet. It’s spark deep, an ever-growing eternal yearning…And it’s finally started driving Megatron fragging insane.
Relationships: Jazz/Soundwave, Megatron/Optimus Prime, Megatron/Orion Pax
Comments: 2
Kudos: 83
Collections: MegOP Week 2020





	Cravings

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-War, Soulmates AU.
> 
> Essentially, you have a craving. And, the closer your soulmate is, the worse the craving gets. The only way it's satisfied is when you meet them. This means that, if you don't taste what it is while they are there, in this case, it is what they give you, you could likely miss the opportunity. Fortunately for these two, they don't.

It runs deep in their biology, deeper than the code each and every one of them carries. It’s more part of them than energon that fuels their lives and their planet. It’s spark deep, an ever-growing eternal yearning…

And it’s finally started driving Megatron fragging insane.

“Soundwave!” He yells, the depths of his aggravation vibrating the walls of their shared temporary quarters. A black tentacle hovers in his peripheral, the limb twisting, looking in his direction. “I am tired of this infernal craving.” The tentacle moves as though to shrug. It would irk him more if he didn’t know that Soundwave did care, but found humor in his friend’s suffering all the same. “We should go out.”

The sound of heavy footsteps resounds as Soundwave joins him in the common area. A paint covered rag dangles loose in his servo, his armor freshly cleaned. Looks to Megatron that Soundwave may have felt the same.

The unoccupied black servo reaches out and drops a purple glowing candy into his own palm._ “Anything to stop your whining, punk_,” old Macadam’s voice loudly plays.

Megatron grunts as he turns and plops the sweet into his mouth. No need to let Soundwave see his smile.

-0-0-0-

The bar had been absolutely packed, and with the added off-duty Elite Guardsmen occupying more than a third of the establishment, they turned and passed it by. He’d expected they’d instead buy visco to go and return to their temporary quarters, but instead, Soundwave simply dragged him along, away into a different direction from the berths. Frag the fact that he’d finished the candy on their walk to the bar, now they have further to go and that Primus forsaken craving was coming back. With a vengeance.

Night isn’t over, the pace said. Other places to go.

Other places meaning the more-expensive-than-it-should-be club and bar located in what Praxis calls the backstreets, a step up from what locals use to find and enter the arena.

Fools. Obviously they’ve never seen Kaon.

The doormech looks them over, optics squinted in suspicion. Megatron’s about to state their identities when Soundwave places something like a datapad in the mech’s hand. Grey-blue optics widen and gears start turning and the mech rushes them in to a corridor, motioning to a door at the end as he speaks in a dialect Megatron himself does not recognize. It rubs him the wrong way, and he bites his glossa to prevent himself from interrupting. When the mech leaves, Soundwave leads them the rest of the way down.

A vibration rumbles through the floor, but its intensity does not compare to the absolute throbbing of pain and absolute _craving_ in his mouth. He swallows, the energon from his bite making its way down his throat and into his tank.

Soundwave stops, servo hovering over the door as a scanner passes over the Pad in grip.

“Should I be worried?” He asks.

Soundwave cracks the visor, only his red optics visible above the dropped glass shielding, glowing brighter with their mischief. A series of locks click and gears grind as the door opens in, and an assault of noise, and smells, and colors bombard them.

And Soundwave had said it would stop his ‘whining.’

Oh, he’s gonna have some ‘whining’ all right.

“I may be a gladiator, Soundwave, but I’m no heathe—“A tentacle wraps around the joint of his wrist, yanking him along. Soundwave had best be glad they’re friends, because if it was anyone else—

A smell in the air tickles his senses, and he pulls back. _Hard._

He knows that smell.

_What is it?_

The tentacle tugs again, softer than before, and he’s hardly aware of shaking his head ‘no’ because, he needs to find the smell. Where it’s coming from. What it is. It’s close, and his mouth is bleeding. No, it’s watering. Why is he salivating? That’s entirely unnecessary and unnatural and _disgusting_, in its organic nature and—

“ ‘Lo, mechs!” A _very_ short blue and white mech yells in greeting, ignorant of how rudely he’s bumped into Megatron, who really, he needs to find that smell. He can almost _taste _it, and this small possibly-Praxian, probably Iaconian grounder is in his way. He should—“ Sounders! You didn’t tell me he was mute, too!”

_What?_ “I’m not mute, you dim spark. Get out of my way.”

The small mech ducks the servo Megatron swipes his way, and ends up pressed close again, their fields overlapping. The grounder laughs loud, highly amused. Before Megatron can push at him again, Soundwave’s field presses in close to him, overlapping his own and the smaller mechs and—

“Oh.” Megatron stops fighting, feeling the press of meshing fields, and he realizes, “He’s your sparkmate.”

Jazz is his name. He vaguely remembers a conversation they’d had, before Soundwave had taken his vow of silence, of Soundwave possibly having… satisfied his craving.

_Oh_.

Brightened blue optics glitter up at him as his glossa conveniently gets stuck to the now too dry roof of his mouth, and, how inconvenient, he’s trying to apologize, but their bodies get shoved aside by another group of green and yellow mechs and femmes loudly proclaiming their need for ‘coming through’ ‘off to frag’, ‘bout to be so faced I’ll be glitched for days!’

“Well… that’s one way to spend a night,” Jazz chirps. Megatron’s still stuck somewhere between confused, enraged, frustrated, antisocial, and _craving_ that he doesn’t get to respond before, “I think I have someone you might like to meet!”

Then, Jazz is pulling him—_him! Megatron, champion of Kaon! A mech four times his size_—through the rest of the dancing, gyrating, and growling crowd, back to a more secluded area where—

_…oh._

“Jazz! Where were you?” He’s smaller. Red chassis with blue plates strategically scattered across his frame, and he’s obviously somewhere between internal security and an upper-services class. Truly, there shouldn’t be anything special about him. “You left and then these two femmes came to spea—“

Glowing cyan optics meet his own, and Megatron isn’t sure if he imagines the sound of the other mech’s invents or if he really has heard it. There should be nothing special about this mech before him…

“Hi.”

Megatron swallows, “hi.”

Small blue servos lift a purple with pink flakes drink, tipping it in his direction.

“I think you might like this?” The mech offers.

Megatron doesn’t even know his name.

“I have no doubts.”

Jazz rounds Megatron, Soundwave in tow.

“Orion Pax, this is Soundwave,” he pats Soundwave’s chest for emphasis, “and _this_ is Megatronus.”

_Orion Pax._

Reaching out, he bends forward as he delicately lifts the servo Orion has wrapped around the mineral cocktail. It’s a click and an eon at once. Shimmering cyan optics watch, enthralled, as he presses the cube to his mouth, aperture expanding as the liquid touches.

It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“But, still, I crave.”

The little mech’s blush is worth the embarrassment he’s sure will follow.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a day late on this one... But... The idea wouldn't come until it did. So... here it is.


End file.
